


Until This World Is Yours

by runicmagitek



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: “Could you,” she uttered, the words cracking in her dry throat, “do me a favor?”“What’s that?” So soft and quiet, unlike his physique looming over her.Rush Valley is hotter than ever, especially after a hard day of work. In an attempt to cool off, Winry asks for some assistance.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell
Kudos: 11





	Until This World Is Yours

**Author's Note:**

> For GYWO's 2020 Yahtzee word prompt: _frowsty_

The shadows offered sparse relief in the dead of summer. Every window in the shop was cracked open, more to air out the musty space than welcome a cool breeze. Winry scoffed; it wouldn’t be until midnight when Rush Valley dipped into a comfortable temperature. And that was if she was lucky

Wiping sweat from her brow, she tinkered with the last automail order for the day. Then she could collapse somewhere and dump ice water over her head. Until then, she worked. Easier said than done when sweat slicked her back and clung to her jumpsuit. Each breath felt like inhaling moldy water than air. Dropping her tools momentarily, she groaned and slumped in her seat. The worst part of her job, by far, was working in a ridiculous workshop without proper air circulation.

Winry tugged on the collar of her jumpsuit to cool off. _Maybe if I save a little extra money,_ she mused, _then I can hire someone to install_ _… something to make this bearable._ She forced herself upright, albeit with a whimper, then resumed her work. _I don_ _’t think I can go another summer working like this._

Metal clanked against metal, the material almost molten to the touch, even through her gloves. She tightened bolts, oiled jointed, and polished away grime. All an exemplary display of her craftsmanship, a labor of love. It demanded her attention and robbed her of general awareness outside of her bubble.

And she almost screamed when a sound other than her meticulous tinkering filled her ears.

She dropped her tools and spun around. It turned out said sound was a voice speaking her name; once she locked eyes with a familiar face, her tension melted.

“Oh, it’s just you, Al.” Winry heaved out a sigh, hand resting over her beating heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I-I’m sorry.” He lifted his open hands. “I had some time before my train left for the east and I thought I’d say hi.”

Her lips curled slightly. Of course he did. Even into their adult years, he was still the coy boy never wanting to harm a soul. “That’s really kind of you, Al, though I, um—” She begrudgingly glanced at her workbench. “—I got to finish this order before the day’s over and—”

“Hey, not to worry.” He smiled, like he always did. “If you’re busy, that’s alright. I won’t bother you.”

“I mean, I don’t _mind_ you bothering me.” Winry swiveled back to center, twirling a wrench between her fingers. “You got enough time to stick around for an hour or so?”

“Mmhmm. Taking the train after dinnertime.”

She peeked back to him. “If you don’t mind waiting, you’re welcome to stay.”

“You don’t mind?”

Was he… blushing? Maybe it was the heat getting to him. “With you? Never.”

After a moment, he nodded, thanked her, and took a seat in a corner of the room. Winry returned to her work— _again_ —yet she glanced in Alphonse’s direction more than she was willing to admit. He flipped through a book of his, one of perhaps many in his suitcase. Perhaps another Xingese text on Alkahestry. Winry smiled; maybe one day she could convince him to bring her along. No doubt the Xing nation had unique automail and engineering methods. Furthermore, she liked the idea of being with him—Alphonse. She missed him, yet it was difficult to cherish his returns when she was up to her eyeballs in work orders.

But a girl could dream, right? Thinking of him made tedious days fly by. And now that he sat on the other end of the room with her, the seconds crawled like years.

She licked her lips focused on work. Or tried to. _Why is this difficult? It_ _’s not like he’s never been around before. And yet…._ Another glance, another skip in her chest.

“There,” she said out loud after half an hour. She chucked her tools aside, sat back, and stretched. “All done for the day.” She paused. “Well, I just need to clean and wash up, then I’m all yours.”

Alphonse looked up from his book and smiled. “Take your time, Winry.”

She tried not to pout. _But I don_ _’t want to. Not when_ you’re _on the timer._

End of the day procedures rarely changed. Winry stashed away completed projects in shipping boxes for either next-day pick-up or delivery. She logged her orders and prepped the next day’s batch. With her tools and workbench tidied and cleaned, all that remained was washing herself up. Every inch of fabric clung to her sweaty form. A shower involved leaving the shop and heading to her apartment. Winry gazed at Alphonse, still absorbed in his book. A shower meant leaving him behind.

_Well, I could invite him over,_ she thought, only to blush when her thoughts deviated. If she tempted a shower _with_ him, he’d never make his train. _Or,_ she reasoned, _he wouldn_ _’t humor that kind of offer._ A vast sigh left her, garnering Alphonse’s attention. _Get your head out of the gutter; you have company._

“Everything alright?” Alphonse asked.

“Yeah.” Winry absentmindedly waved at the space between them. “Just this weather getting on my nerves.”

“Mmm. It is kind of frowsty in here.”

She paused in the doorway to the bathroom. “It’s what now?”

“Stuffy, warm, stale, usually with a particular, ripe scent.”

Winry tried not to glare through him. “You trying to suggest something?”

“Not at all.” Again he offered open palms to her, cowering slightly in her presence. “Sorry, I’ve been reading too many books on Alkahestry. The atmosphere in any given space can affect the flow of chi. I’m picking up more new words than I anticipated.”

Gentle laughter spilled from her. “I’ll bet.”

He continued his talk of his research, his voice soothing, almost releasing the tension in her taut muscles. Winry left the door open a crack to listen, adding the occasional one-liner to express her interest. Who was she to deny someone of their passions? She talked his ear off enough about automail; this was no different for Alphonse. And he talked and she splashed lukewarm water against her face and redid her ponytail and shrugged off her jumpsuit.

Halfway through unzipping her top, she noticed the silence. Winry parted her lips to say something, only to stop. She blinked and looked in the mirror. From a particular angle, she caught sight of Alphonse looking back at her through the ajar door.

She drew in a deep breath, yet her heart pounded in her ears. How long had he been looking at her? Not just now, but ever? Even through a reflection, the attention brought a pleasant chill over her semi-clothed body. She pressed her thighs together and ignored the new heat unfolding. Swallowing hard, she found the strength the speak.

“Al?”

He audibly hissed in a breath. Blush flooded his face. Averting his gaze, he replied. “Yeah?”

“You stopped talking,” she said, trying not to tease too much. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“I like it when you talk.”

Nothing, then, “You do?”

“Yeah,” she almost purred in response.

“Um.” From the reflection, he flipped through his book, the heat in his face not abating. “I can keep going if you’d like. I didn’t want to bore you.”

Winry laughed. “I doubt you could if you tried.”

Yet when the pages stilled, he read nothing. Her breaths deepened and the dreadful, stuffy heat wasn’t to blame. The silence thickened more than the air separating them.

“Hey, Al?”

“Hmm?”

She pried her sights away from the mirror and gripped the edges of the sink. “Come here.”

No reply. Then his book closed. The wooden feet of the chair scraped the floor. Footsteps gingerly approached her. Winry steadied her breaths, fingers curling into the lip of the ceramic sink. When the silence returned and the door never creaked open, she bit her lip.

“You can come in, Al,” she said, ignoring the tremble in her legs, her stomach, her voice.

The hinges whined. Nothing else.

She stared a hole through the faucet, yet couldn’t lift her head to meet him. Even then, she swore his eyes were on her like a phantom touch exploring her body. If only he would _say_ something to alleviate the damn, stuffy air.

“Could you,” she uttered, the words cracking in her dry throat, “do me a favor?”

“What’s that?” So soft and quiet, unlike his physique looming over her.

She closed her eyes. “With everything you’ve been learning about Alkahestry, can you make this room more bearable?” Winry chuckled. “Not that you need to turn it into an icebox, but anything to—”

Alphonse clapped his hands together—far more mindful and gentler than she was used to. Then again, her memories of him performing Alchemy were amidst battles and required more aggressive, swift maneuvers. She didn’t _mind_ the notion of him embodying that at the moment—definitely a sultry thought for later—but now she appreciated his gentle ways, as if it was his first time around her. It was, in a sense; she never allowed him the privilege to be in a ten-foot radius of her while she donned only a cropped top and small shorts.

Blue light crackled in the mirror. Alchemy fizzled. All the usual signs Winry was accustomed to. None of it prepared her for the icy hands on her shoulders.

She hitched her breath, perhaps too hard. Her eyes shot open. Goosebumps flooded her skin. For every day spent in the sweltering heat, she forgot what the relief of coldness felt like.

Alphonse’s flinched, ghosting over her skin. “Is it too much?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she managed to force out, albeit with a tremble. “Quite the opposite.”

His sigh tickled the back of her neck. Slowly, he settled his hands. Winry closed her eyes again with a coo. The further his hands sank into her, the further the icy sensation washed over her. It didn’t, however, freeze over the heat bundled in her core; if anything, it accentuated that burning need.

His touch slid up her shoulders and caressed the muscles at the base of her neck. Restraint eluded Winry as she parted her lips and moaned softly. Again he paused and her delight morphed into frustration with a whimper. His breath tickled her skin again—was he chuckling? He kneaded into her again, deeper this time, and Winry failed to keep herself standing upright. Thankfully that gave her the perfect excuse to lean back into Alphonse and melt into his chest.

Despite the ice flowing through his palms, his body was warmer than the room—warm, but different. A distinct pulse thumped in his chest and against her back. The connection of skin on skin—his decadent touch—brought more chills than the ice he conjured.

“I like that,” she purred for him.

“Hmm?” He ceased kneading, but at least his hands stayed on her. “Do you?”

Winry tilted her head back, nestled into the crook on his neck. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

“Almost like it as much as you.”

Silence persisted. Winry sucked in shaky breaths, waiting for her erratic heart to explode out of her chest.

“Al?”

Nothing. Her brows knitted together. By the time she parted her lips, his hands found a new home at her waist. Icy fingers stretched over her stomach, albeit featherlight. Then gentle lips pressed into her neck and Winry whimpered.

She pawed for him, one gloved hand clutching his hip and the other smoothing over his hair. She mentally cursed the leather blocking the way, but he was there—solid and real and right next to her.

Winry squeezed him. So did he.

Her eyes focused on the mirror before them. He drew lazy, idle shapes in her sides and brushed his lips along her neck. She ruffled both his blond hair and casual suit with her groping. The grease from her gloves probably wasn’t helping either. Regardless, the sight of him like that with her sent a delightful wave through her core.

“Did you….” She inhaled, though the breath didn’t clear her thoughts. Not with how he was teasing her. “Did you say something about a train you had to catch tonight?”

He flicked his eyes up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips inches from her ear.

“Wouldn’t want you to be late,” she tried to say, her words mixed with faint laughter and a strained moan.

He hummed against her and wrapped his arms around her trembling form. Winry clung to his forearms.

“I think there’s another train headed east first thing in the morning,” he said.

She held her breath. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe.” He slipped two fingers beneath her chin and turned her face to his. “I’ll figure it out.”

Alphonse barely finished his sentence. A tiny hitch in his throat was all Winry heard when she crushed her lips into his. Something hard and needy—a stark contrast to his gentle soul. She expected him to be taken aback by her forwardness, but nothing in him tensed; if anything, he replied with a sharp bite that resembled the ice now fading from his palms. Each deep motion left her trembling in his arms. She parted her mouth and flicked her tongue over his lips; he tasted better than she imagined.

By the time she coaxed his mouth open, he spun her around and she swept her arms around his neck. In the fluid motion, Winry managed to stick her foot out and catch the door. It swung shut with a distinct _click_. That was all that mattered—the two of them together.

And if Alphonse did miss his train? Well, Winry was sure to make it worth his while.


End file.
